


Snapping Her Fingers and Shuffling Her Feet

by gutsforgarters



Series: Doo Wah Diddy Diddy [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pre-Relationship, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 18:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18183911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsforgarters/pseuds/gutsforgarters
Summary: In hindsight, Daryl never stood a snowball's chance in hell against Beth Greene.





	Snapping Her Fingers and Shuffling Her Feet

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to my AU fic [Doo Wah Diddy Diddy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101309/chapters/42789647). Mostly I wrote it to provide more context for how Beth and Daryl got to know each other. 
> 
> Enjoy 💖

**Saturday, March 30 th**

 

“You look like hammered crap.”

Rick splays an open palm against the doorjamb and leans on it like he wouldn’t be able to support his own weight otherwise, and maybe he couldn’t. Squinting at Daryl through bloodshot eyes, he says, “Didn’t know I was competing in a beauty pageant.”

Daryl looks Rick over. Assesses the dark circles stamped under his eyes and the waxy cast to his skin. Says, “Good thing you ain’t. If you was, you’d’a been disqualified in the preliminary rounds.”

Rick leans his temple against his knuckles and sighs hard through his nose, sounding a bit like a balloon steadily losing air. “What d’you want, Daryl?”

Looks like Officer Friendly ain’t feeling so friendly today. Well, if Rick wants to contend with Daryl for this year’s Heavyweight Asshole Championship, he’s gonna have some stiff competition on his hands.

Daryl crosses his arms and tucks his hands into the crooks of his elbows. “It’s noon on a Saturday.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rick says with cultivated sarcasm. “I got a clock. And a calendar.”

“It’s noon on a Saturday,” Daryl repeats, “an’ you’re still in your PJ’s.”

Rick looks down at himself like he’s looking at someone else’s body. He’s wearing an off-white t-shirt with a coffee-colored stain on it, mismatched slippers, and Kermit the Frog pajama bottoms. Daryl’s the white trash, here, but Rick looks like he wouldn’t be out of place in a trailer park on an episode of _Cops_. As one of the criminals; not one of the cops.

“Yeah.” Rick blinks a couple of times before scrubbing at his eyes. “Guess I lost track of the time, after all. Should prob’ly go back in and change.” He drops his hand and gives Daryl an evaluating look that’s a lot blearier than his usual. “You here just to remind me to get dressed, or was there somethin’ you wanted?”

Daryl just shrugs and shoulders past Rick. Was a time he wouldn’t’ve had a kind word to say to any cop, let alone stomp onto one’s property uninvited without having to worry about getting arrested, but times change, and Rick was always alright for a cop, even before he went out of his way to befriend a surly redneck with the social skills of a feral cat.

Rick’s done right by Daryl. Daryl figures he owes Rick one. Or twenty.

Rick grumbles as he shuts the door, but Daryl doesn’t pay him no mind. As he approaches the living room, Carl tears his eyes away from whatever’s playing on the television and nods.

“Hey, Daryl,” he says, sounding way more excited than Daryl deserves, probably because Daryl’s the first houseguest he’s had all week. “You and Dad goin’ out someplace?”

“Depends,” Daryl says, coming a couple steps into the living room and propping his shoulder against the whitewashed wall.  

“On what?” Carl asks.

“On whether or not your daddy decides to be a stubborn ass about it.”  

“I can hear you, y’know,” Rick says darkly, coming up beside Daryl and giving him the stank eye. “And I ain’t going anywhere. I wanna spend the weekend with my kids. You wanna hang around my house and eat my food, feel free. Just remember to clean up after yourself.”

“You gonna remind me to use a coaster next, Martha Stewart?” 

Carl lets out a snicker that he quickly disguises as a cough when his daddy turns that pissy look on him.

Rick doesn’t snap back at him. Just stands there in the doorway and looks at his kids, and Daryl looks with him. Looks at Carl on the couch, pretending to be absorbed in an episode of _SpongeBob SquarePants_. Looks at Judith, or what he can see of Judith, nestled in her folding crib with the white bars and the yellow blankets.

Feels his chest ache a little at what’s missing from this picture. At _who’s_ missing from this picture.

And if that’s how _Daryl_ feels—Daryl, who’s only been on friendly terms with the Grimeses for about two years, now—how the fuck must _Rick_ feel? Daryl can’t even conceive of it, of how it must feel to lose the love of your goddamn life.

Daryl jerks his head at Rick to get his attention and says, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Daryl doesn’t give Rick a chance to comply or refuse. He just heads for the kitchen with the expectation that Rick’ll follow him. He leans against the kitchen island, crosses his arms, and waits.

Rick comes in a couple of seconds later, situating himself against the kitchen island next to Daryl, shoulder brushing his.

Daryl’s no good at this. He’s no shrink, and he’s sucks ass at talking about his own feelings, let alone someone else’s. Part of him just wants to wait and see if Rick will take the initiative, but Daryl’s been waiting for that for a while, now. If he waits any longer, he’ll fucking fossilize.

So he says, “If you ain’t workin’ yourself half to death, you’re livin’ like a damn hermit. Something’s gotta give, man.”

What Daryl _wants_ to say is, _Lori wouldn’t want this for you_. But if he did, chances are that Rick would knock his teeth out.

“I don’t—” Rick’s voice cracks. Daryl pretends not to notice. “Carl and Judith need me. I can’t just run out on ’em like some deadbeat dad.”

Daryl snorts. “Man, I know deadbeat dads. You ain’t it.” His bangs flop into his eyes when he shakes his head, and he rakes them impatiently back. Man, he needs a haircut _yesterday_. “I get wantin’ to be there for 'em, but you gotta balance things out some.”

Rick shuffles his feet a little aimlessly but doesn’t say anything. Probably because he can tell that Daryl’s talking out of his goddamn ass.

“Anyways, y’know how kids are. You was one of ’em ’bout a hundred years or so ago.” Daryl glances at Rick sidelong, checking for any traces of amusement. Doesn’t see any. Tough crowd. “Your boy needs space. Y'can’t smother 'im.”

“And Judith?” Rick challenges, turning his head to face Daryl properly. “She’s just a baby, Daryl, and she doesn’t have a mother.” Daryl tries not to flinch, even as Rick cringes away from his own words. “She needs me,” Rick repeats, voice cracking harder now, cracking like ice. He turns his face away. Hangs his head.

Daryl stands there for a minute, pretending he can’t hear Rick sniffle. Then he loops an arm around the guy’s neck and knocks their skulls gently together. Just stands there with him and breathes against his cheek.

Daryl’s never loved anybody the way Rick loved Lori, but he’s felt other kinds of love. He can count the people he gives a shit about on one hand, and Rick’s one of those people.

And, like he said: he owes the guy.

Daryl pats Rick’s shoulder and gives him a rough shake before pulling back into his own space. “Where’s your phone?”

Rick scrubs roughly at his eyes. “It’s on the coffee table. Why?”

Daryl doesn’t answer the question. He goes to the living room, snatches up Rick’s phone under Carl’s questioning gaze. Does an about face and stalks into the powder room across the hall.   

Then he locks himself inside.

He can hear Rick calling his name, but Daryl ignores him in favor of scrolling through his address book until he gets to _Beth Greene_. He hits dial with his thumb and brings the phone up to his ear.  

Her phone rings three times before she picks up, sounding a bit breathless when she says, “Mr. Grimes?”

Daryl shuts the toilet’s lid and plunks his ass down. “Nah,” he says, feeling kind of bad for disappointing her. She’s probably been worried about Rick, too. Probably been wanting to hear from him. “S’Daryl.”

“Mr. Dixon?” Beth asks, and Daryl nods before remembering that she _can’t fucking see him_. “Is Mr. Grimes alright? Did somethin’ happen?”

“Nah,” Daryl says quickly, not wanting her to freak out. “He’s fine. It’s just—me an’ him got plans to go out an’ see a movie or somethin’—” Sure, he has yet to run these plans by Rick, but he’s thinking on his feet, here. “—an' we was wonderin’ if you’d be alright to babysit for a couple'a hours.”

“Oh! Sure. No problem.”

Feeling bad about roping an innocent bystander into this, he says, haltingly, “You sure you can make it? Don’t got any other plans?” After all, it _is_ noon on a Saturday, and Beth’s a teenager. Don’t teenagers like to spend most of their free time at the mall?  

“Nope,” she says, then calls for somebody named Maggie. Her big sister, Daryl’s pretty sure. “I’ll be there ASAP.”

A fist pounds against the bathroom door. “Goddammit, Daryl! Give me my motherfff— _freakin’_ phone back!”

Daryl can practically _hear_ Beth’s eyes widen. “Uh. Was that Mr. Grimes I just heard?”

“Nope,” Daryl lies baldly. “Was the TV. Carl’s got some Tarantino movie on.”

“Oh,” Beth says doubtfully. “Well, alright. I’ll be there in a few.”

“A’right. Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

Daryl hangs up first, then heaves himself off the toilet and unlocks the door. Eases it open to the sight of Rick’s livid face.  

“Give me that,” Rick snaps, snatching the phone out of Daryl’s unresisting grip. “The hell’re you doin’, draggin’ Beth into this—”

“Didn’t drag nobody. Girl was happy to help out. Get dressed an’ shaved. You look like a fuckin’ bum.”

Rick’s eyes thin. “Christ’s sake—”

Carl appears at Rick’s side and wraps his hand around his father’s wrist. “I got this,” he tells Daryl, already tugging Rick along. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t try to lock himself in the bathroom or crawl out the window or somethin’.”

“Oh my God,” says Rick, looking a little dazed and a lot pissed. “It’s a goddamn mutiny.”

“I’ll keep an eye on Lil’ Asskicker for ya,” Daryl says, and Carl gives him a nod of solidarity. Daryl wanders into the living room and folds his arms on the railing of Judith’s crib, settling in to watch her burble in her sleep.  

Beth’s big sister must’ve broken a minimum of fifteen traffic laws on the way here, because the doorbell seems to ring earlier than it should. Daryl goes to get it, but then there’s the thudding of boots on the stairs and the murmur of voices. Then Rick’s coming into the living room, looking pissed off at the world in general, Beth Greene at his side. Her blond hair’s braided back from her face, and she’s got a blue backpack slung over one arm.

“Beth, you don’t have to do this,” Rick’s saying, but Beth bowls right over him.

“I don’t have to, but I want to. Didn’t have any plans, anyways, and you know how much I love Judy. Me an’ Carl got things covered, don’t we?”

Carl nods and flops onto the couch, retrieving the remote and turning up the volume on _SpongeBob_.

Beth’s eyes land on Daryl, and she smiles so bright it makes him vaguely uncomfortable. “Hi, Mr. Dixon! How’s your day been?”

“Uh.” _What?_ “Fine.”

“Great.” Beth drops the backpack onto the floor by the couch, then turns to face Rick, hands on her hips. “Now, Mr. Grimes, are you gonna turn this whole thing into a waste of gas, or are you gonna go and see a movie with Mr. Dixon?”

It’s kind of funny, how Rick looks almost… _quailed_ by a girl half his age. He shoots Daryl a betrayed look over Beth’s narrow shoulder before mumbling, “Guess I’ll go an’ see that movie.”

Beth nods, once, then folds herself onto the couch next to Carl and slides her phone out of her pocket. “Have fun,” she says, not looking up from her phone’s screen.

A smile twitching at his mouth, Daryl follows Rick into the hallway and watches as the guy pats at his pockets to make sure he didn’t forget his wallet or his keys.

Daryl points at the hinge of Rick’s jaw. “You missed a spot shavin’.”

Rick slaps his hand away.

 

* * *

 

There isn't anything good playing, on account of it being March, so Rick and Daryl settle on a generic action movie that’s bound to be a towering disappointment. Daryl pays for the popcorn and their sodas and ignores Rick’s grumbled promises to pay him back.

The movie’s about as bad as Daryl predicted it to be, if not worse, but at least there’s a surplus of explosions. And by the end of it, Rick seems to have relearned how to smile, so there’s that. It’s something.

Hell, it’s everything.

Afternoon’s creeping toward evening by the time they get out of the theater, hot gold sunlight melting off the truck’s windshield when Daryl pulls up to Rick’s house. They’re still cracking jokes at the movie’s expense when they ease the front door open, but they both shut up in a hurry when they hear the singing.

The voice is sweet as sugar, and something about it makes the hair on the nape of Daryl’s neck rise—but then it cuts out. Rick and Daryl venture into the living room’s archway, and the sight that greets them is that of Beth cradling Judith against her shoulder, beet red in the face. On the couch, Carl watches Beth with something approaching awe before spotting his dad and Daryl and clearing his throat.

“Uh,” Beth warbles. “Hi. Shoot, hold on a minute—” With all the care one might show a live bomb, she eases Judith off of her shoulder and back into her crib, tucking her in. Then she bounces around to face Rick and Daryl again, still flushed in the cheeks. “Um. Judy was fussin’, so I sang her a lullaby. Just got her to sleep, actually.”

“That didn’t sound like a lullaby,” Rick says, and the smile that creeps onto his face is half fond, half teasing.  

Beth shrugs and crosses her arms over her chest. “There’re only so many lullabies, and they get stale after a while. Anyways, I like that song.”

Still smiling, Rick settles against the wall. “Didn’t get to hear the whole thing. You mind doin’ it over?”

Beth audibly gulps. “Excuse me?”

Smile broadening, Rick says, “We’d really like to hear you sing again, honey. Wouldn’t we, boys?” He looks from Carl to Daryl, obviously expecting backup.  

Carl nods enthusiastically and shamelessly. After an awkward beat, Daryl nods too, trying to make it look like it doesn’t matter to him either way.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Beth wants to know, and Rick shrugs.  

“Sure you do. But we’d all be mighty disappointed if you said no.”  

“This is peer pressure,” Beth grumbles, making Rick and Carl laugh, but then she nods her acquiescence.

She knows that Rick’s been hurting, too.

So she opens her mouth and sings.

_There she was, just a-walkin' down the street, singin' "Doo wah diddy diddy dum diddy doo"_   
_Snappin' her fingers and shufflin' her feet, singin' "Doo wah diddy diddy dum diddy doo”_   
_She looked good, she looked fine_   
_She looked good, she looked fine and I nearly lost my mind_

_Before I knew it, she was walkin' next to me, singin' "Doo wah diddy diddy dum diddy doo"_   
_Holdin' my hand just as natural as can be, singin' "Doo wah diddy diddy dum diddy doo"_   
_We walked on to my door_   
_We walked on to my door, then we kissed a little more_

_Whoa-oh, I knew we was falling in love_   
_Yes, I did, and so I told her all the things I'd been dreamin' of_

She sings the whole thing through, quietly, on account of not wanting to wake the baby. She stands in one place at first, but as the song goes on, she gets into it, doing a little shuffling dance across the floorboards and snapping her fingers like the girl in the song.

She’s flushed from exertion by the time she’s finished, face glowing like the horizon during a sunrise, and Rick’s the first to clap for her—again, quietly, for Judith’s sake. Carl claps too, even harder than his dad, and, feeling foolish but not wanting Beth to think that he hated her song, Daryl claps along with them.  

Rick goes over and hugs Beth, mumbling, “Thanks, honey.”  

Daryl knows that Rick isn’t just talking about the song.  

Beth squeezes her arms around Rick’s waist and rises on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Was my pleasure,” she says.

Rick pulls out of the hug, but he strokes Beth’s hair as he goes. “Your sister pickin’ you up, or d’you need a ride?”

Beth shrugs. “Need a ride,” she admits, then fastens her lower lip between her teeth. “But I don’t wanna make you leave Judy again.”

Right. Because Rick and Lori used to switch off on giving Beth a ride home while one of them stayed with Carl. Only that can’t happen anymore.  

“I can take her home.”

All eyes swing to Daryl, and he realizes belatedly that he’s the one who said that.

“Or not,” Daryl mumbles. Hell, probably for the best that he doesn’t. Beth doesn’t know him that well; she has no reason to trust him.  

But Beth says, “Sure. That’d be great. I’d really appreciate it.”

Daryl’s head snaps up. He doesn’t remember lowering it. “What?”

Beth starts gnawing on her lower lip again. “I mean, s’long as it isn’t a bother.”  

A bother? No, it wouldn’t be. But. Still.

He looks at Rick, hoping for some assistance from that quarter, but Rick just smirks and says, “Sounds like a fine idea to me.”

This is his way of getting back at Daryl for strong-arming him out of the house, isn’t it? _Asshole_.

Grudgingly, Daryl nods.

Rick snags him on his way out, hugging him hard and muttering, “Thanks, brother,” in his ear, and Daryl blows him off like he usually does. Then it’s just him and Beth and the truck cab that suddenly feels too small.

“Can I roll the window down?” Beth asks, and Daryl mumbles his assent. Maybe she wants an easy escape route, and who could blame her?

Daryl doesn’t know much about Beth Greene, but he knows that she’s been sitting for Rick for longer than Daryl’s been on friendly terms with the guy. Knows that she’s a senior in high school. Knows that she’s pretty enough to make heads turn.

Knows that she’s the kind of girl that men like him get shot for looking at cross eyed.

“How’d you and Mr. Grimes meet, anyways?”

Daryl nearly veers out of his lane, course correcting at the last second. “What?”  

He can feel Beth’s eyes drilling into his skull. Probably she’s wondering if he’s as crazy as he looks. “You and Mr. Grimes. How’d you meet? I never did find out. One day you were just…there.”

Yeah. Daryl figures they’re an odd couple if there ever was one, a redneck and a cop. Sounds like the premise to a fucking primetime sitcom.

Daryl shrugs. “He arrested my brother.”

Beth laughs, a sound that’s more surprised than amused. “Wait. Really?”

Daryl’s shoulders are slowly but surely rising to touch his ears. “Uh-huh.” He doesn’t elaborate, and she, thankfully, doesn’t ask. His shoulders return to their normal position.

“How’d _you_ meet him?”

Wait. Did he ask that question? Did his tongue disconnect from his fucking brain? Is there some faulty wiring going on in there?

“Oh!” Beth perks up a little. “Well, he worked as a farmhand for my daddy before he went to school to become a police officer. He’s known me since forever, so I can’t tell you when we first met, ’cause I was a baby.”

Christ, she’s so young. Daryl should be arrested just for sitting in the same truck as her.

“Think I remember him mentionin’ something like that,” Daryl mumbles, then lapses back into silence. He can’t help but steal a couple of glances at her, though. She’s got her face turned towards the window like a flower towards the sun, hands loose and relaxed in her lap.

So maybe Daryl doesn’t unnerve her as much as she unnerves him. That’s…something.

Daryl knows the directions to Hershel Greene’s farm, on account of Rick, and on account of this being a fairly small town, so he gets her home pretty quick. When he pulls up to the farmhouse, he half expects an angry daddy with a shotgun to be waiting for them on the porch and is mildly surprised when there isn’t one.

He throws the truck into park and waits for Beth to get out, but she doesn’t. Not right away.

No. What she does is hug him.

Daryl doesn’t know what she’s doing at first, and nearly cringes away from the contact the way he does with most people who aren’t Rick or Carl or his brother. She can only get one arm across his chest, since his back’s pressed flat to the seat, and her left arm’s smushed awkwardly between them, but she’s definitely hugging him. Daryl’s heart gives a hard, uneven thump before settling back into its usual rhythm.

Beth’s hair smells clean, and her touch is gentle and unthreatening, and when she says, “Thanks,” her breath gusts sweetly across Daryl’s collarbones.

His hand is cupping her elbow. When did that happen? “Was just a ride home,” he mumbles, cheeks prickling with embarrassed heat.

“Wasn’t talkin’ about the ride—though thanks for that, too.” Beth eases back to smile at him, hands falling away, and Daryl is both relieved and disappointed when she slides back onto her half of the bench. “Mr. Grimes is family, an’ I really appreciate what you did for him today. You’re a good friend, Mr. Dixon.”

Daryl wants to sink down in his seat until his eyeballs are level with the dashboard. He also wants to dismiss what Beth’s saying out of hand, but what he ends up saying is, “Rick’s done alright by me. Figured I owed him.”

Beth just smiles knowingly at him, then scoops up her backpack and hops out of the truck.

“Thanks for the ride,” she says again. “See you ’round, Mr. Dixon.”

Daryl just nods mechanically, at a loss for what else to do. Beth slams the passenger side door and heads into the house. Through the rolled-down window, Daryl can hear her whistling the song she sang in Rick’s living room.

Damn thing winds up getting stuck in his head for the rest of the night.


End file.
